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by avaalons



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avaalons/pseuds/avaalons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the North, and she belonged here (<i>she did</i>, she was adamant), but it didn’t feel like home again. Not yet.</p>
<p>Day 1 entry for the Game of Ships Valentines Drabbles over at LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 entry for the Game of Ships Valentines Drabbles over at LJ

Home was a strange and problematic concept to her these days. She knew the old Sansa had lived here once, had walked these halls and sat in these rooms, but the place was so different, so fundamentally and irrevocably changed that some days the homesickness threatened to overwhelm her. It was too quiet, too empty, too cold, and despite the basic features of the buildings remaining the same (or rebuilt to look like they did before), most times she barely recognised it. Winterfell was angry with her, she knew, for her abandonment of it. Her punishment was to be cruelly teased with fleeting glimpses of how life used to be, the life she never knew she would miss until it was well and truly gone, only to be left feeling as though she had been struck hard in the chest when reality hit her again. This was the North, and she belonged here ( _she did_ , she was adamant), but it didn’t feel like home again. Not yet.

In Jon’s arms, though, she would close her eyes and allow herself to melt in to him, to revel in the sensation of being completely and utterly surrounded. His arms were new to her, yes, and the feel of his hand at her back and his fingers in her hair couldn’t help her summon memories of a childhood long gone (although sometimes she would stumble across him knelt in the godswood and automatically think of her father before she could catch herself), but when she was wrapped comfortably in his embrace with her head tucked under his chin, he felt bigger than all of Winterfell. He was taller and stronger than its many walls, and he was warm and kind and gentle, where Winterfell was cold and harsh and mean. If Sansa had learned anything during her years in the South, it was that home wasn’t made from the pile of stones within which you lived. It was a place of safety and surety, a place to exist without fear, and she hadn’t had one of those in a very long time.

_It won’t always be this way_ , Sansa told herself regularly and with an insistence that almost had her convinced. Winterfell would never be the home she once knew, but then, she wasn’t the Sansa she once knew and Jon certainly wasn’t the bastard half-brother she had known in her previous life. Nevertheless, she _would_ make it a home again, for her own sake and for Jon’s, and this time she would share it with him as her equal. But until that day came, his arms would be the only home she needed.


End file.
